


A Black Christmas (II)

by Abradystrix



Series: Andromeda Vignettes [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abradystrix/pseuds/Abradystrix
Summary: Two years on, Andromeda finds solace in a fellow lost soul.





	A Black Christmas (II)

London, Christmas 1967

‘Dromeda. DROMEDA.’ 

The voice outside her bedroom door was urgent and pleading. Dromeda sighed, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom. She jumped up and moved to open the door. Glancing downwards into the inky darkness of the hall, she caught her cousin Sirius staring up at her, his hair parted over his forehead and his silk pyjamas glistening in the dim lighting. He grinned up at her and she grinned back, opening the door further to let him in. He loped in with an easy grace, and hopped up onto her bed.

‘Regulus is snoring again.’ He announced with importance.

‘Is he now?’ Dromeda responded, closing the door behind her and smiling to herself.

‘Yes. He always does. Sometimes I prod him but then he cries and tells Mum. Stupid little git.’ Sirius was glancing all around her room, distracted. He frowned at one of her posters - it was static.

‘Who are they Dromeda?’

‘Just a Muggle band, Sirius. We can’t all be fans of the Warbeck Family like your dad…’ she said solemnly, watching her small cousin prod the poster with interest. His eyes lit up as they fell on another image, of a glowing Marianne Faithfull, clad in a fur coat, leaning winningly over the handlebars of a scooter.

‘I like her. She’s pretty.’ He said enthusiastically, standing up on the bed to get a closer look. Dromeda laughed at his cheek: he was not the bane of her Aunt Walburga’s existence for nothing. Given that Aunt Walburga’s own interests seemed to limit themselves to bigoted politics and a passion for the propaganda spouted by the Daily Prophet concerning Muggle influx into the wizarding community, Dromeda felt that Sirius was all the more endearing. Bella was a great favourite of Aunt Walburga, and she had sat close to her at dinner, eagerly boasting of her new friends at Hogwarts and their high status families, seeking her aunt’s approval. Dromeda had rolled her eyes sullenly, and catching Sirius’ eye, mimed a hex to her own head. Sirius had barked with laughter, resulting in a reproachful look from his father and a sharp admonishment from his mother.

Sirius bounced down onto the bed beside her and she pulled the blankets back over them. It was an unspoken tradition that Sirius would come and sleep in her room when they visited. Dromeda didn’t mind. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he was older, awkward and substantially less interested in those to whom he was related, but she relished the comfort of his presence. Though she was fierce in her defense of her friends and choices, the bravery she felt at Hogwarts, amidst them, often dissipated in the cold nights in the Black household over Christmas. Narcissa had fallen in with a particularly noxious crowd of girls in her first Hogwarts term and any lingering fondness that had lain between the two youngest Black sisters had disappeared. Now, Bella and Cissy whispered together, walked together, laughed together, while Dromeda sat wishing she could be anywhere else, anyone else, but here.

Her wiry, curly-haired cousin always cheered her up. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of them, the pieces that didn’t fit with the rest. Growing up with sisters, Dromeda enjoyed the energy of this strange young boy, curious about everything and intent, it seemed, on rebelling against the Black norm. He cheered her up.

Lying back down, Sirius turned to face his big cousin with big eyes. They were bleary with sleep but shining with excitement.

‘It’s Christmas tomorrow.’ he said excitedly.

‘I know’ she replied, smiling, ‘shame you won’t get any presents. I already gave them all to Kreacher.’ 

‘No you didn’t!’ gasped Sirius. 

‘Oh I most certainly did. He said your mum would love them - what would you want with some vintage Chocolate Frog cards, the best tricks from Zonko’s and a shiny Galleon? Surely they’re just perfect for old warty Walburga.’

Sirius giggled and prodded his cousin in the ribs.

‘Tell me again about you and Jim and the Quidditch match…’ he grinned.

‘Well…’ began Dromeda, sitting up and letting Sirius get comfortable in his nook.

‘It started when Slytherin were third in the league… we just had to take the Snitch at the next match to get to the final… However, Jim and I felt this was rather boring and wanted to raise the stakes. So we found ourselves collecting bets from every house…’ 

Slowly, Sirius’ breath evened and he fell into a deep sleep, the kind Dromeda associated with her childhood, when things seemed clearer and simpler. She watched him closely and it wasn’t long before she too fell asleep once more.


End file.
